


Not How I Imagined It...

by KittieHill



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Awkward Conversations, Awkward Sex, Awkward Sexual Situations, Declarations Of Love, Drunk Blow Jobs, Embarrassed Sherlock, Emotional Constipation, Failed Sex, Insecure Sherlock, John is good with his hands, M/M, Massage, Multiple Orgasms, Prompt Fic, Prostate Massage, Rimming, Sexual Inexperience, Sweetness and Snark, They're idiots in love, True Love, Virgin Sherlock, bloody nose, honestly, injuries during sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-08
Updated: 2016-03-25
Packaged: 2018-05-25 14:05:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 18,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6197932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KittieHill/pseuds/KittieHill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The two men would go through old cases which Greg and the Yarders brought around, Sherlock had even solved the Ripper case in an afternoon, and the small friendly touches when John handed Sherlock a pen or a cup of tea became something more. Sherlock would lay with his head on John's lap whilst the doctor stroked his hair, or John would sit on the downturned lid of the toilet whilst Sherlock was in the bath and they would talk about old times or the future. They never spoke of Mary or the baby which wasn't John's, they discussed their future.<br/>The tension was building; a pressure which had no way of escaping finally came to a head on a dreary Wednesday in the hallway of Baker Street.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Morwen_Maranwe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morwen_Maranwe/gifts).



> I was asked to write an awkward sex story... It wasn't that hard. I love Awkward sex!
> 
> Gem helped me a lot because she's amazing. She wrote a lot of Sherlock,
> 
> And big thanks to SherlockHolmesConsultingVampire for betaing me once more and making my nonsense into words.
> 
> Another chapter to follow!

There had been a lot of build up between the two men; lingering touches and glances which could no longer be passed off as platonic best friends and instead crossed a line into intimacy. John didn't care how it seemed to the passers-by, he had given up the pretence of being entirely straight when it came to Sherlock a long time ago but after the whole Moriarty thing, the roof and coming back from the dead and then finally Mary, he had thought that nothing would happen between them and they would remain as best friends and non-sexual life partners.

And he was okay with that. He really was. After he moved back into Baker Street he and Sherlock picked up from where they left off; they had got some of the friendship back on track between the detective coming back and Sherlock dying in the operating theatre but everything had been fixed immediately afterwards, in the long, hard months of rehabilitation when Sherlock needed constant care and attention to stop the boredom induced wandering to Angelo's (whilst still catheterised) or the angry stares between Mycroft and Sherlock which would become an endurance test in itself, sometimes lasting hours.

The two men would go through old cases which Greg and the Yarders brought around, Sherlock had even solved the Ripper case in an afternoon, and the small friendly touches when John handed Sherlock a pen or a cup of tea became something more. Sherlock would lay with his head on John's lap whilst the doctor stroked his hair, or John would sit on the downturned lid of the toilet whilst Sherlock was in the bath and they would talk about old times or the future. They never spoke of Mary or the baby which wasn't John's, they discussed their future.

The tension was building; a pressure which had no way of escaping finally came to a head on a dreary Wednesday in the hallway of Baker Street.

They had been on a case, barely a four but John was trying to make Sherlock go slow in throwing himself back into legwork. Sherlock however hadn't listened, and had taken off at a sprint to catch the would-be rapist and had collared him in an alley, sitting on him until the police arrived to arrest the man. John had helped Sherlock back up and then together they had sat in a cab, the sexual pressure building and building. Sherlock moved his hand across to John's upper thigh, unable to look at his friend whilst he did it.

John in turn put a hand over Sherlock's and used his fingers to cup Sherlock's kneecap, holding it firmly and giving it a gentle squeeze as he watched Sherlock's face light up from the corner of his eye, the intimate touch being the spark to the touchpaper which flared bright white and hot in both men's bellies.

Neither man spoke to one another as they paid the cabbie and then walked to the front door, opening it easily before closing it behind them.

Their first kiss had been at the bottom of the stairs, snogging like teenagers and groaning into one another's mouths before Mrs Hudson came out with a broom to hit the intruders. She had squealed so loudly that the men had broke apart and blushed, attempting to hide their erections before she shooed them up to their own flat to do 'whatever it is you boys do.'

That had been three weeks ago and so far they had only gone as far as kissing and a few quick handjobs in the shower or under the sheets of their beds. They had taken to sleeping in Sherlock's as it was bigger and more comfortable for John's shoulder but it also allowed John the opportunity to coax Sherlock into bed more often.

John wasn't ready to push Sherlock into a sexual relationship; he understood that Sherlock was impatient to try anal sex but he wasn't going to rush into anything.

Until the night of their two month anniversary -they had refused to call it by that name of course- they had gone to Angelo's for dinner and had a couple of glasses of wine which immediately calmed both men and had them chattering aimlessly. They had walked home, hand in hand and beaming with happiness, talking about the night ahead and the TV shows which John insisted on putting on (in order to annoy Sherlock, apparently). The older man had smiled, feeling a bubble of content burst in his stomach and the realisation that he loved Sherlock, truly loved him, harder and more unbearably than any of the fleeting relationships he had tried to hold onto. He stopped Sherlock with a hand on his shoulder outside Baker Street before kissing him hard and passionately, pulling Sherlock closer into him and curling an arm around the taller man's waist.

“I want to take you to bed,” John whispered, his eyes meeting Sherlock's which flickered with anxiety and then arousal as he nodded and unlocked the door.

John had tangled his fingers carefully into Sherlock's perfectly styled and waxed hair, pushing him harshly against the wood and snogging him without finesse or much charm. He licked into Sherlock's mouth, angling their hips together and rocking them until their lengths pushed and slid against one another with an almost perfect friction.

“Bed,” John growled, his eyes meeting Sherlock's large, almost black pupils as he turned and raced up the stairs.

Sherlock followed him eagerly, taking the steps two at a time and stumbling, almost tripping face first into the door once he reached the top. He huffed with a wonky grin, seemingly dizzy with lust and arousal, and tore off his scarf, shrugged out of his coat and grabbed for John with scrabbling fingers. The sight of a fervent and wanton Sherlock was not a sight that John had ever seen before, and was so human and unlike him, that he seemed, for a moment, to be someone completely different.

“I want to take you apart,” John practically growled. “Let's go to my old room. There's more… space… between us and Mrs Hudson,” he explained. He didn't want to have to face his elderly landlady and see her twinkling knowing eyes. He entwined his fingers into Sherlock's and pulled them up to his mouth, giving a gentle kiss to his lover's knuckles. “I understand if it's too soon but...” he pushed himself closer to Sherlock, rutting his cock against Sherlock's upper thigh.

“No. No I've… I've wanted this. Wanted you. For a long… long, long time,” Sherlock coughed, turning his face away for a second before John pulled it back for a long and drawn out kiss.

John pulled Sherlock up the second set of stairs, kicking off his shoes and leaving his coat lying discarded on the landing as he turned and pushed Sherlock against the wall to kiss him hotly once more.

The movement jarred Sherlock, causing him to knock his head against John's forehead. The detective frowned, rubbing his forehead and pouting, “Ouch.”

“Sorry,” John smiled, kissing Sherlock's head and tilting his own. “Better?”

“A little,” Sherlock sighed, rubbing his face before starting again. “Sorry, I'm not… We've… I – I'll shut up.”

Sherlock swallowed thickly and instigated another kiss, which was clumsy, messy and raw. The younger man was trembling violently all over and pushing his hips out with a steady thrust as he tried to rub against the nearest part of John he could. He was strong and lithely and over excited and each agitated arc of his hips caused them to stumble back a step. John couldn't help but huff out a laugh, attempting to kiss Sherlock but missing entirely as Sherlock gave a deep thrust which sent his head back, forcing John to suck on Sherlock's chin. John laughed, walking Sherlock backwards into the doctor's neatly organised room. John pulled away, taking a few steps back and unzipping his jeans, wiggling his hips until they fell heavily to his ankles. He kicked them away but couldn't help but fall onto his knees when the fabric of his trousers wrapped around his legs. John hissed as he looked down at his scraped and scuffed knees, taking a deep breath he looked at Sherlock with a bashful smile. “I'm usually more smooth.”

Sherlock slid to his knees to be beside John and smirked widely, shuffling closer to kiss John again, squashing and bumping their noses once more as he tried to undo his trousers at the same time. Sighing, Sherlock leaned back and fought with his button and zipper, somehow getting it caught and causing the detective to glower, exceedingly flushed as he tried to pull down the zip again and again with no luck.

“What is going on with us?” John tittered, putting his hands around Sherlock's flushed cheeks and pulling him down for a deep kiss, slowing Sherlock's excited and messy tongue until it was moving in a steady and sensual rhythm with John's. John managed to kick away his own trousers at last, taking off his socks before taking Sherlock's hands away from his own zipper and forcing it apart with a wince when there was a loud split. “Shit, sorry.”

Sherlock paused for a moment and looked down at the destroyed, tailored trousers before shrugging. “Don't care,” he muttered breathlessly and squirmed in an attempt to take them off. After a few moments of tugging, wiggling and grumbled insults about his tailor, Sherlock was finally in just his pants and shirt.

“On the bed,” John groaned, seeing the long, long length of Sherlock's legs finally resting against the familiar pattern on his duvet set. He remembered the endless hours of masturbation under the very same sheets over the same set of legs. John ran his eyes along the toned thighs and then down past the knees and to the strong calves. He tilted his head and blinked in confusion.  “Sherlock, do you shave your legs?” he asked.

“What?” Sherlock replied with a few blinks as he positioned himself comfortably on the bed and lifted a leg to look at. “No,” he frowned and then sat up and made a face of realisation, pursing his mouth with a grimace. “I mean yes – Don't ask! It's just an experiment. A theory. I was interested and… well… Do we have to talk about this now? During coitus? If it helps, then I don't normally have much hair on my legs anyway, so it's not like it matters.”

To prove his point, Sherlock gestured to his arms and began unbuttoning his shirt to expose his flushed torso and underarms, struggling with the cuffs in the next second with a frustrated wrinkle of his nose? “Stupid.. Stupid buttons! Why must Michel insist upon making my shirts with buttons! I hate these… bloody useless… pieces of – Why am I shaking? John! Help me with this,” he demanded, thrusting an arm in John's personal space with a gesture of impatience.

John took Sherlock's arm in his hands and unbuttoned the cuffs, helping Sherlock slip it from his shoulders and onto the floor beside the bed. He turned, kissing Sherlock's wrist softly before kissing the corner of his lips and pulling Sherlock half on top of him, his hands moving to cup Sherlock's plush arse and holding him tightly. “Is this what you want? I know… well… I know you haven't… you don't...”

“Maybe I have,” Sherlock retorted curtly with a self-conscious undertone, glancing away awkwardly and then dropping his forehead to John's shoulder to murmur against him in admittance. “...I haven't. But I do. I mean; I do want it. What you implied. What you asked out there – I do. Yes. Please...”

“That's good… that's.. well that's great, truthfully,” John smiled, rubbing the back of his neck self-consciously before curling his hands around Sherlock's shoulder and kissing his forehead. “I've never done this before either. Not with a bloke I mean. I'm...well… I think I know what I'm doing.”

The training which John had learnt for prostate exams was surely all roughly the same, he assumed, and he had watched enough pornography to last a lifetime and to sear itself onto the inside of his eyelids so he felt fairly confident that he would be able to muddle through. He shuffled down the bed, kissing at Sherlock's chest and pulled Sherlock towards him, gazing down lovingly at the younger man who looked so utterly terrified that John felt like he should call the entire thing off. He kissed him softly and slowly, sweeping a hand up Sherlock's rippling abdomen to stop at his chest and thumb across one of Sherlock's nipples before repeating the movement.

“Hn!” Sherlock blinked at the shocked exhale of uncontrollable noise as well as the sensation which had caused it. He looked down at John's hand in interest. “Oh. That’s…nice, and bizarre – Never really had anyone that I like touch my nipples before—Janine did, if I remember rightly, but it didn’t do anything. Didn’t really like her. Well, I did, but not in the way I do you. – Perhaps I should stop talking about her. Sorry. I talk when I’m on edge…not just when I’m on edge, obviously.”

“Yeah… probably for the best,” John huffed.

John still wasn't quite over the shock and jealousy which had erupted through his body at the sight of a half-dressed Janine, thrown across Sherlock's lap. John hated to imagine how Sherlock felt at the wedding, standing beside the man he loved and watching him marry somebody else. John felt the weight of guilt in his stomach once more and felt his arousal cooling slightly at the memory and closed his eyes in an attempt to refocus his mind. He extended his arm, cupping Sherlock's hot bulge through his slightly damp cotton pants as he turned onto his side.

Sherlock jolted physically at the touch and let out a shaky breath, “…Should I? I mean… do you want me to do that too? To you, not to myself,” he rambled and reached out clumsily with his right hand, nudging at John’s thighs first and then very faintly laying his palm over his crotch.

John nodded, his body itching with need as he rolled his hips in an attempt to get more friction against Sherlock's hand. He cupped Sherlock tighter, twisting and stroking with his fingertips and fingering across the leaking head of Sherlock's cock which was evident through the sopping wet fabric. John used his other hand to prop his head up, looking over at Sherlock sweetly and smiling as he stroked and caressed his friend mercilessly.

Blushing, Sherlock grinned shyly and then turned his head away with a low whine. “Stop it,” he muttered, still grinning and blushing and shaking in delight. His penis twitched and then tensed under John’s hand as Sherlock shifted the position of his hips and pulled his legs up.

“Stop what?” John asked, blinking and smirking as he pressed harder, combining soft strokes with a not so gentle rubbing against Sherlock's testicles and the spot behind his balls. John watched as Sherlock's breathing hitched, and he smiled warmly, kissing across Sherlock's jawline. “Okay?”

Sherlock inclined his head in response and rocked his unsteady hand against John’s clothed erection, trailing and examining the length and shape of him, before pulling his hand away nervously, “Why are you still wearing your jumper?” he complained and turned enough to rub their mouths together gently, breathing down over John’s chin.

John looked down at himself and nodded when he noticed the wool monstrosity covering him. He pulled his hand sharply from Sherlock's crotch and sat up to pull the jumper over his head as he nervously rubbed a hand across the still pink scar which marred his shoulder, feeling self-conscious now that he was lying beside the almost perfect Sherlock.

“You need not be embarrassed about that, John,” Sherlock whispered, placing a large hand across the flawed skin.

“I know, it's just...” John sighed, dropping his eyes down to Sherlock's torso where the pink bullet hole lay. He cleared his throat and looked away. “I'm sorry.”

“We all have scars,” Sherlock replied, his voice deep and soothing.

John bit his lip before shuffling back down the bed and threw an arm across Sherlock's belly, his fingers stroking the hole which his wife had put there. The two men made eye contact for a long moment before John nuzzled Sherlock's neck and gently dipped his hand into the waistband of his lover's pants, feeling the sticky essence leaking profusely from Sherlock's tip to puddle on his lower stomach.

Suddenly, Sherlock froze with a tensed and choked sound in his throat, and he shoved John and his hand away roughly, sitting up and turning his back to him with an almost pained exhale. He curled over his lap a little, fitting one large hand between his legs and went still with his head bowed. His entire posture was rigid and withdrawn, the bumps of his spine and ribs visible as he took a very shaky and deep, but quiet series of breaths.

“Sherlock?… Sherlock are you – okay? Did I hurt you? I shouldn't have touched your scar...” John panicked, running his hand down Sherlock's spine and softly stroking each bump before pressing a kiss to the base of Sherlock's neck where short black hairs were stuck with sweat. “You're almost hyperventilating. Take some deep breaths for me?”

“Don't touch,” Sherlock whined through his teeth, waving an erratic arm back at him and curling further inwards. “Just… wait. Give me… give me a moment.”

“Oh… OH!” John finally clicked on to the situation. “I… Oh I see.”

John sat back, crossing his legs and putting his hands on his own thighs. He watched Sherlock's heaving back and remained silent and still.

After approximately seven minutes, John was beginning to become troubled by the length of time it was taking Sherlock to return to their previous activities. He understood the need to keep his hands to himself but each time John moved his hand to Sherlock's 'safe' areas of skin, he was roughly slapped away and as such, his own cock had softened almost completely in his pants and had led to John compiling the next grocery list in his mind. He had just reached bleach and pasta when Sherlock's rumbling voice filtered through his consciousness.

“Shut up,” the detective complained in a rough mumble after another minute and shot a glare over his shoulder with a look of humiliation, his mouth pinched in dislike and brow furrowed. He turned back around slowly and kept his head bowed, his face red with his unease and insecurity, and his hands fisted. Sherlock looked utterly young and innocent in that moment, his mussed curls obscuring his eyes and curling softly around his ear and cheek; he looked like the first virgin girl John had slept with, completely nervous and sheepish in every way possible, despite their arousal.

“I didn't say anything,” John grumbled under his breath. He opened his arms and motioned for Sherlock to lay down. “I won't touch if you don't want me to. I'm just getting a bit cold up here on my own,” he smiled, attempting to reassure his lover. He cupped his soft cock, hoping that Sherlock the-most-observant-man-in-the-world Holmes wouldn't notice the loss of his erection.

Sherlock glanced down at it and looked upset and then angry, before he pushed into John’s arms and attached himself to John’s throat, kissing him zealously there and then rubbing bodily against him. He went to speak against the pulse in John’s neck, but kept faltering and, in the end, continued to trail kisses down John’s chest and then up to his Adam’s apple.

John groaned; he had always had a sensitive throat and the almost innocent kisses which Sherlock were pressing against his skin sent thrills up and down John's spine. He wrapped his arms around Sherlock, feeling the familiar hardening of his prick once more as he rocked and thrust against Sherlock's leg, feeling himself thicken with every press of his hips. John looked down at the mass of dark, unruly curls and stroked a hand through them. “Sherlock, what do you want? What can I do to pleasure you?”

Leaning up and over him, Sherlock took one of John’s hands and relocated it to his backside quickly, and then dropped a small kiss to his mouth. “I still want what was…implied earlier. Please,” he whispered against John’s lips and chin.

“It can be quite… intense I'm led to believe and I...well… I bought something home from the surgery. I didn't want to y'know, seem presumptuous but there is an enema kit in the bathroom. Before we get...properly started. Why don't you go get cleaned up and then we can… do it,” he flushed and cleared his throat. “Jesus, I'm a doctor. I should be able to talk about this stuff.”

“Can I have a…kiss first?” Sherlock asked him with a cheeky smile to hide the obvious fact that he was nervous.

“You don't have to ask,” John soothed, brushing back the curls from Sherlock's face and lowering his face to his friend's. John kissed him chastely for a while before licking across the seam of the plump, bow-shaped lips and pushed his tongue inside, licking the insides of Sherlock's mouth and playing with his tongue until Sherlock finally participated and returned the embrace nervously.

Sherlock kissed John overly keen and shaking, very gently grinding into John’s crotch and pressing the naked heated skin of their torsos together. He sighed with a shiver when he eventually pulled reluctantly back with a moist separation of their lips, and glanced aside with a hard swallow, gesturing with one hand and a brief nod of his head.

“I’ll…go to the bathroom then,” he said aimlessly, not moving away for a few seconds in which he kissed down John’s throat to nose at his collarbones. “I’ll be quick.”

“Mmm, please. Not sure how long I can wait,” John practically purred into Sherlock's ear, biting his earlobe teasingly before slapping Sherlock's bum as the detective climbed from the bed, fiddling with his pants awkwardly in an attempt to hide the erection pushing against the fabric. John watched with a soft smile, curling around on the bed and relaxing into the mattress before grabbing for his phone. He briefly considered watching porn, it would keep him aroused and horny until Sherlock returned but he didn't want to risk coming prematurely so instead he opened his solitaire game and began to play.

The bathroom tiles were cold under Sherlock's feet and pulled him from the fog of arousal which muddled his brain. The younger man padded to the sink, gripping the ceramic tightly and taking a few deep, calming breaths before staring at his reflection in the mirror for a few seconds and sighing, grimacing at the mottled blush on his face, neck and chest. He had quickly retrieved his laptop from the living room and powered it up, leaving it resting on the downturned lid of the toilet as he researched the best way to use what John had stored in the bathroom cabinet. Sherlock was thankful for the informative images and even videos of the safest and correct way to use the equipment. The detective skimmed the pages, jittery and buzzing with arousal as he bounced from one foot to the other, ignoring the way his erection rubbed at his underwear from the motions.

“All right,” he muttered to himself, closing the laptop with a faint click and turning to look at himself again. He eyed the length of his torso and the lines of his waist and hips, and wondered what it was that was so appealing to John. He was nothing like the plush, beautiful curves of a woman; he was hard, angular and awkwardly gangly. Sighing loudly, Sherlock turned away from the mirror and set to work.

Once he had successfully cleared his system, he hopped into the shower for a brisk but scrutinising wash, and then brushed his teeth, combed back his hair until most, if not all, of his curls had vanished, and debated putting on his underwear again. In the end, he decided against it and threw them into the laundry basket. Standing stark naked before the bathroom door, Sherlock paused to examine his penis and ran his fingertips through the neat, damp curls of his crotch and then up the faint trailing of hair to his navel. Was he attractive? Should he just walk in nude, or should he cover himself up? Would it be presumptuous to turn up in the doorway with a full erection and a smile or should he get redressed and allow John to strip him once more?

Sherlock sighed, snagging a towel at the last minute to tie firmly around his waist as he stepped through the doorway to return to John's bedroom, a lump of nervousness forming in his chest as he pushed open the door and stepped quickly inside, shutting it behind him.

John didn't look up, his gaze was entirely focussed on the small screen of his mobile. His attention was on the game as he attempted to beat his high score. He had been stuck on his level for a long, long time and finally it looked like he would get to end it. His tongue stuck from the side of his lip as he remained focussed, his eyes flicking rapidly across the screen before the sound of Sherlock clearing his throat brought him back to reality and caused him to look up at a slightly damp Sherlock, intensely staring at John.

“I'll just… be on second. I'm just finishing this level,” John explained, holding the phone up to Sherlock to show him before concentrating once more on the game. “I've almost finished it! I've never got this far before.”

Sherlock was silent and immensely still for ten seconds, and then gradually walked over to the bed, sitting down on the edge of it with a deepening glare and look of mortification. “John,” he started with a dark and rumbling tone, “I’m naked. And still faintly wet… I've just… inserted a tube into my bottom for this.”

“Yeah… Yeah, I know and I can… see the...wetness,” John muttered, his eyes flicking up from the screen and back down. “But… level 28, Sherlock.”

“Oh. Right. Of course – Level 28. Hm. That’s…impressive. Yes. Very. Must have taken you such a long time to get there,” Sherlock murmured with a mockingly calm voice, snatching the phone from his hands with a sudden shift of expression and holding it to his chest.

“Hey!” John complained, reaching out. “It's not my fault. I got bored waiting for you!” he said before biting his lip, knowing it wasn't the right thing to say judging by Sherlock's facial expression.

Sherlock clenched his jaw, squinted angrily, and then huffed humourlessly, throwing the phone at John before he got up and stormed dramatically to slam open the door. “Enjoy your game,” he muttered.

“No! No, no no. I'm putting it down look. Down it goes,” John said as he put the phone into the bedside table and closed the drawer. “I'm sorry. I'm an idiot. Come back to bed? Please? Forgive me?” he asked, fluttering his eyelashes playfully. “Please?”

It looked for a moment as if Sherlock was going to irritably and callously retort, however, he glanced at John, blushed, and pressed his mouth closed, shutting the door to sit back down on the bed with his head bowed. A few curls from his slicked back hair sprang loose slowly when he folded his arms across his naked chest and looked at his feet.

John shuffled to his knees, walking across the mattress and kissing along Sherlock's shoulder and throat, tasting his shampoo and body wash on his tongue as he licked behind Sherlock's ear. “Let me make it up to you? I could… try. Try to… er… suck you off? If you want?” he asked cautiously.

Sherlock shook his head and looked at him. “I want a kiss,” he said, breath tinged with mint and more of his curls appearing, “And you have to tell me how brilliant I am.” He smiled a little and then glanced down and away, awkwardly fiddling with the end of his towel, covering the obvious shape of his erection with his hands.

John smiled, he loved seeing Sherlock blushing beautifully when he praised him. “You're wonderful,” John started, kissing Sherlock's cheek. “You're amazing, so perfect and brilliant and utterly, utterly bonkers but I adore it. I adore you,” he said before stroking a hand across Sherlock's cheek and tilting his head until they could kiss passionately without cricking their necks.

Sherlock melted into it, gently reaching for John’s good shoulder and then his nape, gripping at the small hairs there as he deepened the kiss and shifted around to be further onto the bed, sitting up on his knees and then leaning up against John eagerly. His towel restricted the motion faintly and Sherlock fumbled, smearing his mouth down along John’s jaw and neck before he could brace himself and adjust the material with a low grumble and an embarrassed glare downwards.

“Take it off,” John whispered, his voice deep and dripping with honey. He toyed with Sherlock's nipples, licking a stripe along Sherlock's neck and collarbone before stroking along the firm line of Sherlock's cock. “I want to see.”

Stifling a ragged moan, Sherlock nodded anxiously and shivered. “What if…” he started with a cracking voice, “What if you don’t like…me…?”

John frowned, his forehead crinkling as he looked over at Sherlock. “That's not going to happen. Surely you understand? I… I don't just adore you, I fancy you rotten. You make me go all… gooey.” He coughed, turning away from Sherlock. “I mean, I understand that you might not feel that way and that's… fine. It's all fine but I just know that I enjoy the way you look. A lot. I have done for a… well… a long time.”

“When I’ve been covered,” Sherlock pointed out, incredibly self-conscious, “I’ve never been naked in front of you. You’ve seen me semi-clothed or fully clothed, but never…never not clothed at all. What if you don’t like…” He gestured to his body, making sure to signal to his crotch the most. “I know you’ve…been fine touching it but it’s different seeing it, isn’t it?”

He looked like he had more to say but he didn’t verbalise it and shifted around to sit against the headboard. Gradually, Sherlock untied the towel, clutching at it tightly in his hands for a few seconds, and then held his breath and exposed the entirety of his body to John, his eyes fixed on John’s face.

John blinked, and bit his lip as his eyes trailed downwards and then back to Sherlock's face. He practically threw himself at the detective, kissing and sucking at his lower lip with a deep groan as he grabbed for Sherlock, pulling him closer and tangling his fingers into Sherlock's hair. The blood was thumping into John's cock, making him light headed and dizzy with how rapidly he went from semi-hard to fully erect. John nibbled on Sherlock's lip before dipping his thumbs into his own pants and pulling them down until they were both naked and flushed, panting hard on John's bed.

“Lube. That drawer,” he nodded at Sherlock, “Grab it for me?”

Sherlock blinked at him sluggishly and then threw his long arm out toward it, bashing his fingers painfully into the side of the bedside table before he was able to scrabble at the drawer handle and pull it open. He rummaged around inside, almost knocking the drawer to the floor in the process, and came back holding the lubricant bottle upside down with a dazed expression.

“How do you want to do this? I want to… look at you but if you'd prefer to be on all fours it's up to you. Completely. You're in control,” John insisted, taking the bottle from Sherlock and kissing him deeply and passionately as his hand moved to wrap around Sherlock's erect shaft. The precome was leaking freely now, dripping across their skin and the bed beneath as John teased it with a focussed hand whilst his other held the lube in a death grip.

Letting out a strained and slightly high-pitched whimper, Sherlock covered his face and then grabbed hold of John’s arms, shaking uncontrollably as his penis throbbed. “Face,” he said in a garbled moan, slurring the word. “I want to…to see you too.”

“Lay down,” John ordered, slightly sharply in anticipation as he swapped position until he was between Sherlock's spread legs. He had never been this close to a man's genitals outside of the clinic before and John's heart was thudding rapidly as he stroked hands across Sherlock's inner thighs. John kept his eyes shut as he opened the lube bottle and smeared the cold gel on his fingers, before warming it up and then rubbing it in the crease of Sherlock's arse. “This okay?” he asked gently. The pad of his finger traced across Sherlock's hole and John stilled as Sherlock practically hit the roof with the strange sensations.

“Not quite sure how to answer that question,” Sherlock panted, gripping the bedcovers and pillows frantically, “It’s fine though. I…in the bathroom…I…did—I’ll be fine.”

John smiled reassuringly and pressed a kiss  Sherlock's bent knee before rolling his finger around Sherlock's anus gently. He watched the detective's eyelids flutter for a moment before John's tip began to breach his body a tiny amount at a time. John stayed still, his finger the only thing moving other than his free hand which stroked across Sherlock's lower abdomen. “That's it, there you go,” John chanted, speaking as though he was dealing with a skittish horse. “There's a lad.”

Sherlock’s mouth twitched and then bent on a wide, unsteady smile. “Don’t make me laugh,” he chortled, peeking at John through his lashes and reaching to touch and stroke John’s face, his smile shifting as he refocused on the way John’s nose sloped. “I’m…happy, you know.” The whispered words were almost inaudible. “Being with you.”

John's breathing caught in his chest as he processed the words. “I'm happy too,” he replied softly, moving his body to kiss Sherlock and inadvertently pushing his finger deeper into Sherlock's pliant and eager arse. He was completely through both anal sphincters before he actually realised what he had done. “Fuck, sorry! I'm sorry. Are you okay?”

“Fuh-fine,” Sherlock told him with barely a wince, shaking and reaching for him again, smoothing his hands up and down John’s arms and across his shoulders, “I’m fine – It burns a little and it’s… peculiar…but I think I’m okay. I’m fine.”

John nodded, stilling his hand for a short moment before slowly pulling back out and in again. When he felt that Sherlock was comfortable with one finger, he removed his hand from Sherlock's arse and reapplied lube before pressing two slowly inside. He moved slowly, twisting and scissoring his fingers to stretch Sherlock open enough for further exploration. John's cock was leaking steadily, dripping across the ankle which was underneath it from John's cross-legged position in between Sherlock's thighs.

“…Should we talk during this?” Sherlock asked uncomfortably, fidgety and anxious from the silence between them. He winced a little and very faintly rotated his hips, adjusting his position and clearing his throat; he reached down to cup his penis, hiding it from view, and cleared his throat again.

“Would it help?” John asked, he didn't really want to talk, especially considering how quickly their conversations turned to gruesome crime scenes or Anderson. He didn't want to lose his erection again before finally having sex.

Sherlock shrugged one of his shoulders loosely. “I’m not sure,” he muttered and shifted his hips again. “I suppose not…I wouldn’t know…”

“Tell me if it hurts,” John soothed but quickly stopped the conversation and gently pressed against Sherlock's prostate. He flicked his eyes up to Sherlock, watching the man's reactions as he repeated the movement again and again.

Sherlock twitched and then blinked with wide eyes, squirming suddenly and so strongly that he kicked out at John, knocking the heel of one of his feet into John’s shoulder and then his chest before he tried to push his knees together and trembled. With a whine and a very loud whimper, Sherlock gripped his length and slapped at John’s arm with his other hand.

“St-stop…don’t…do that,” he wheezed, clenching his eyes shut and wriggling.

The foot against John's shoulder jarred him slightly, causing him to grimace as his muscles in his ruined shoulder pulled awkwardly but John wasn't to be stopped, he smirked playfully at his lover, kissing Sherlock's knee.

“Why? Isn't it nice?” John teased, his fingers still tapping across the small lump inside Sherlock. John twisted his fingers and gave a long and perfect sweep across Sherlock's prostate noticing the trickle of precome dripping from Sherlock's tip.

Choking on an uncontrollable strangled sort of noise, Sherlock arched and lifted his hips, and then clenched his jaw, speaking through his teeth, “Stop,” he told John, his eyes fluttering and his muscles jumping. “John…John…stop…stop. Stop a second—John!” Sherlock convulsed with a powerful twist and suddenly kicked out again, catching John in the jaw and cheek hard.

John's head snapped back and his whole body stilled as he frowned and glared at Sherlock angrily. His face ached and the blood which was once thrumming through his cock was now rapidly rising to his face and making his cheeks an angry red.

“The hell was that for?” John asked as he pulled his fingers out of Sherlock's body, “I was going to stop! You didn't really give me much bloody time to react, Sherlock!”

“You should have stopped when I first told you to!” Sherlock countered with his voice raised and wavering. He scowled at John and shuffled away with a scramble of limbs, turning away and pulling his legs up to his body as he kept a tight grip on his erection and took a series of loud and deep breaths.

“I thought you were just joking! It's supposed to feel nice,” John huffed before rubbing his cheek, he knew it wasn't going to cause much damage but he'd have a good bruise there in the morning. “I'm sorry. I really am… I didn't… I didn't think.”

John held his hand out to Sherlock in a gesture of calm, his eyebrow lifted. “Please forgive me?”

Sherlock ignored him for a moment and then grabbed John’s hand strongly, pulling and manhandling John on his back to straddle his torso and sit down on his stomach, pinning John to the bed. “You’re an idiot,” he said curtly as he stared down at John, his hair frizzy but still partly damp. He adjusted himself, his backside leaving a smear of lubricant across John’s skin as he moved, and he tilted his head with intrigue, finding the position pleasing and interesting.

“I know, you keep telling me,” John smiled, thankful that he hadn't ruined everything. He pulled Sherlock down with his clean hand for a kiss and shuffled his hips teasingly. “I'm in your control. As usual.”

Sherlock smirked at him and then rubbed his legs up against John’s sides, “Good,” he murmured, looking down at the way his penis bobbed, paying special attention to the glistening of pre-ejaculate at the tip as it beaded and then fell to John’s chest. “However, I…don’t know where to go from here—Am I…okay for…penetration now?” Sherlock grimaced as he asked and nosed at John’s throat while he shifted down to trap John’s erection between his buttocks.

“Y-Yeah. You should be good,” John nodded, his nose brushing through Sherlock's frizzy and sweat-damp curls. “Jus-Just go slowly. Don't push too far and make sure there is plenty of lube,” he muttered, his breath catching at the thought of finally being inside Sherlock's body.

Pushing up onto his knees above John, Sherlock reached for the bottle of lubricant and dropped a kiss on John’s cheek as he opened it and shuffled back to suddenly drench John’s penis and half his pelvis in it on accident. “Oh,” he huffed and sat down on John’s thighs, “Too much? – I think it’s too much.”

John shivered at the strange sensation of gel dripping along his skin and grit his teeth. “It's.. fine. It's okay. Better too much than not enough,” he smiled reassuringly.

“True,” Sherlock nodded with a sigh, blushing and looking at the bottle, coating the fingers of his right hand and then leaning up to touch himself for a moment, ducking his head in embarrassment. Losing grip on the bottle in the next second, Sherlock fumbled to try and keep hold of it, spraying lubricant up John’s chest, cheeks and half the bed. “Sorry—God this is ridiculous.”

John giggled, rubbing his face and wincing when he touched the sore bruise forming on his cheek from Sherlock's kick. “It's certainly the least boring sex I've ever had,” he smiled and rubbed the lube into his skin, making it glisten and shine. “We don't have to do this you know, if you're not ready or comfortable.”

Sherlock scoffed loudly and glared at the bottle as he tried to put the lid back on, his slicked fingers making it more difficult than it would normally be, “Shut up, John,” he muttered and then hefted the bottle aloft with a grunt of triumph, grinning and letting it then fall to the bed. He looked shy and exceedingly uneasy as he shambled into a better position and resolutely kept his gaze down when he slowly reached to touch John’s naked cock for the first time, curling his fingers around the width of him as if he were holding something as precious as glass.

John groaned, his eyes slamming shut at the feeling of long, pale fingers wrapped around his cock for the first time ever. The memories of endless, lonely and sad wanks over Sherlock briefly ran through his mind before he blew them away with the realisation that he was here… now, under Sherlock and waiting to be granted admittance to his hot, pliant body.

John nodded his head, unsure whether Sherlock could understand what he was agreeing to and placed a hand on Sherlock's hip whilst the other supported the back of his own neck, allowing him to watch from a comfortable position.

Pushing his own erection out of the way, Sherlock lifted and positioned John with his hand, aligning them properly on the third searching try, and pushing down slowly, guiding the head of John’s penis in with his index finger. He grimaced and flinched, his brow furrowed in concentration, face outlined with frizzy curls, and Sherlock finally lifted his gaze, flitting his eyes around the room agitatedly.

“Oh shit,” John stammered, “Shit, Sherlock.”

“What? Where?! I did the cleaning thing just like you told me!” Sherlock insisted, his eyes wide with terror as he attempted to look under himself. “You said...you told me!”

“No! Not that,” John said, his eyes still sweeping across Sherlock's face. “We didn't … I'm not wearing a condom!” he gasped, “Are you clean? Oh god, we're going to have to get tested. Shit, fuck, bugger!”

“Clean?—Oh! Oh. Right,” Sherlock muttered, swallowing heavily and lifting up a little with another grimace, his thighs shaking in small tremors whenever he adjusted his posture. “I’m pretty certain I am. Should I…stop? We could…get something?” Sherlock motioned knowingly to the place that John kept his condoms and then arched a twitching eyebrow.

“No. No there's no point now,” John sighed, rubbing his face and then throwing his head back on the pillow. “I know I'm clean, I've never had unprotected sex and I'm fairly certain that I saw your last test results in your not-at-all-illegally-acquired medical history from your last rehab stint. Shall we just.. carry on? It might… I mean, if I finish inside you. It'll be a bit… leaky when we finish.”

Sherlock snorted with a laugh and wrinkled his nose, “Don’t then,” he told him and took a sharp intake of breath as he eased further down, twitching when a few more inches of John’s cock slid in with a squelch. Sherlock tensed, clamping down firmly and gripping his own thigh, and huffed out a sound through his nose.

“That's good, you're doing good,” John groaned, digging his fingers into Sherlock's hips whilst his other tensed into the bedding. “God, you're so tight and hot.”

“Sorry,” Sherlock mumbled distractedly, his penis bouncing as he angled his pelvis and drove down several inches more, biting on his lip. The flush of his arousal was darker and was spreading, covering the expanse of his chest and trailing down his abdomen. Sherlock frustratingly pushed his hair from his face and hissed through his teeth, panting through his nose.

“Don't ah-apologise. It's a -ooh- a good thing,” John groaned, rolling his hips slightly in an attempt to stop the urge to thrust and rut against Sherlock. He stilled, quietly stroking his thumb against Sherlock's prominent hipbone and then moved his other hand to pinch Sherlock's chin, pulling it up so they could make eye contact. “How does it feel?”

“…Ask me again later,” Sherlock muttered and tried to avoid looking at John, his entire face blotchy red, “Stop disrupting me. Let me just—just shut up. Just don’t…don’t…do…anything.”

John closed his eyes to stop them rolling at Sherlock's snarky comments and instead focussed on how good it felt to be inside his lover. It wasn't the practised movements of his previous partners, although granted they were all female and he was using their vaginas, but the stuttering movements were almost pleasing. John opened his eyes, watching Sherlock for a second before closing them again and giving a deep moan as he slipped deeper still.

“This would be so much simpler…” Sherlock complained deeply as he pushed down with a trembling of his hips and thighs, “if you were smaller – At this rate, you’re going to be…poking…my…intestines!—Ow. It burns.” He paused for a moment, breathing forcefully and shaking all over.

“Hey, hey relax,” John whispered, skimming his hands up Sherlock's sides and then shuffling his body up the bed, sitting up slightly in an attempt to comfort the clearly distressed Sherlock. The movement jostled the younger man, forcing more of John's rather large appendage inside Sherlock as John wrapped his arms around Sherlock's shoulders. “Shhhh, it's okay. I have you.”

Sherlock choked on an impulsive inhalation and froze, tensed massively around John like a vice, and then struggled to get away, “…No. No…no, no, no…out…get out…that…no…out!” he exclaimed loudly, his voice going shrill and breaking at the end. He clambered, hyperventilating and grunting with a deep contortion of his mouth and brow, and accidentally smacked John in the face with his hand as he surged up and away with a moist disconnection of their bodies. Sherlock swayed sideways and tumbled unexpectedly off the bed while he tried to get away, tangling himself in the bed covers and landing face first on the ground with a loud and jarring thud.

“Sherlock!” John cried, peering over the bed and then looking down at his lube smeared cock which had slapped against his belly wetly “Sherlock, what's wrong? What happened?”

Slowly, Sherlock pushed up onto his knees and lifted his head, his nostrils, mouth and chin suddenly wet in blood, “Oh,” he intoned, stunned from his fall, and lifted a trembling hand to his bleeding nose, getting blood on his fingers and down his chest. Sherlock blinked down at himself and then got up unsteadily to his feet, rushing from the room with his head bowed.

“Sherlock! Come back,” John pleaded, throwing himself from the bed and following Sherlock with his cock bobbing in front of him and causing drops of lube and precome to fall onto the carpet with each step. “Sherlock! I need to check your nose. Please!”

Noticing that Sherlock had locked himself into the bathroom, John immediately banged on the door, trying the handle and realising that it was locked. “Sherlock, let me in.”

“No,” Sherlock replied, voice thick and wet sounding before he coughed and spat, “It’s not broken if that’s what you’re worried about.” He spat again and whinged in pain, running the taps of the sink.

“I'm worried about the fact that I hurt you! You twat. I need to check I haven't torn you or hurt your...rectum.” John cleared his throat, hoping to god that Mrs Hudson hadn't popped in for tea downstairs. “I'm sorry I moved, It was an accident. Please let me in so I can see you. I'm worried,” he admitted with a grimace.

Sherlock opened the door after three minutes of nothing and looked at John over the wad of toilet paper that he’d shoved under his nose, “I’m fine,” he said, voice muffled and nasally. There was blood on the bathroom floor and all around the rim of the sink, staining the taps, and Sherlock waved a dismissive hand at it all. “I’ll clean it later.”

“I think we should probably give up, yeah?” John admitted with a soft smile, moving to kiss Sherlock's cheek and secretly check his nose for visible damage. “Shall we just snuggle up with a film and takeaway? It's probably less life-threatening.”

Sherlock, downtrodden, nodded and pulled the toilet paper away from his nose to check it wasn’t still bleeding, “…If you say so,” he uttered gloomily, sniffing when more blood trickled down to run into the seam of his lips. He turned back to the sink dejected and moody, and stood there silently, cleaning the blood from the sides without looking at John.

* * *

John sat stirring his tea, the sound of steel hitting against porcelain as loud as a gunshot in the otherwise silent room. They hadn't spoken, not yet, not after… well… that attempt at sex. John turned around and sat at the table, putting his mug in front of him and holding onto the hot ceramic as though the burning sensations at his palms could cause some of the tension in his body to evaporate. He looked up, his eyes lingering on the black eye which formed from Sherlock's fall from the bed. He caught Sherlock's burning gaze for a long moment before letting his eyes fall back to the table and clearing his throat. He opened his mouth to speak, feeling the bruise on his own cheek pull with a wince before he closed his mouth and then opened it again before realising that he truly had no idea what to say in this current situation so instead, he retreated once more into silence.

“So…” Sherlock finally sighed after more than ten minutes had passed with neither of them moving or speaking, his eyes still fixed on John but focus shifting as he faltered to go any further in his sentence. Sherlock’s fingers drummed against the tabletop restlessly and then knitted together as he clasped his hands, cleared his throat, and leaned on his elbows looking frustrated, embarrassed and a little meek.

“Yes...” John responded with a half shrug, his hands still wrapped around his cup. “So er… that. That happened...”

“It did,” Sherlock replied, pressing his mouth into a tight and tensed line, “It…most certainly did.”

“And er…” John sighed, flicking his eyes to one side and licking his dry lips  “Well… it wasn't really er… successful,” John mumbled awkwardly.

“No. No it…it really wasn’t.” Sherlock shook his head and then frowned, looking at John under his brow and fringe, “Was it…my fault? – Or was it you? Seeing as I have no experience in this …subject, I can’t really be held responsible for such a lacklustre result—This is one of the reasons I never wished to try this stupid, messy and downright awkward clash of bodies. It’s ridiculous. It’s unneeded. It’s…disappointing.” He looked overly sullen and dejected, his eyes narrowed as he tried to force blame when it was clear no one was at fault. Sherlock's hand moved to touch his swollen eye and he cringed before placing his hands back to his cup.

John frowned. “It was nobody's fault. It's just… sometimes it doesn't work out right. It's not a good time or the other person is tired. It just takes a little time to get used to your partner I suppose but also, I mean, I've never done… that before either. It was a new thing for me and I don't think I actually did it right.” John said, attempting to soothe Sherlock's quite obvious feelings of self-consciousness. “I mean… there are plenty of other things we can do. We don't have to rush back into full sex.”

Sherlock tilted his head, “What sort of other things?” he asked. “What else is there? Isn’t this what relationships are mainly based on? If we can’t have sex, good sex, then…then why…what...you might—” He cut himself off with a glare at the table and flushed, gripping onto his own hands as he took a deep but slightly wavering breath.

“No,” John warned, holding up two fingers in the air to stop Sherlock mid-sentence. “No. Don't even think like that. I won't have it.”

John scrubbed at his face and hair roughly, inhaling deeply before starting, “I… You know I'm no good at this stuff,” he gestured between them. “But… after everything. After the cabbie and the bomb, Moriarty and the roof… then Mary. I never thought this would happen and I'm never, ever, ever going to let you go over something as stupid as anal sex.” He coughed into his hand and then looked away, seemingly embarrassed at his outburst. “We could just do… hands or mouths. Or if you really wanted to try again, we can do some research and really prep this time. Maybe have a few drinks, have a hot bath and a massage?”

Nodding, Sherlock didn’t lift his eyes for several moments, “Fine,” he said softly, then again with more determination, “Fine. – I feel like I should apologise. I feel…” Sherlock’s expression shifted from one emotion to the next very rapidly, and then paused on something excessively helpless and nervous as he ruffled both of his hands through his hair roughly. “I’m embarrassed. I’m hardly ever embarrassed.”

“It's okay,” John smiled, attempting reassurance by putting his hand across the table in an effort to reach for his upset lover. “I'm embarrassed too. That wasn't my finest hour.”

Sherlock smirked, lowering his eyes to the table and then back to John. “No, you were rubbish,” he joked with a genuine smile which seemed so hopelessly optimistic that for a second, it left John dizzy.

“I know. My reputation as a stud has been well and truly tarnished after that performance,” John huffed and extended his hand to touch Sherlock's. “We'll work it out. We always do.”

“Hmm,” Sherlock agreed before taking John's phone from his pocket and sliding it across the table. “Congratulations on completing Level 28.”

“Oh yeah,” John laughed, taking his phone and shaking his head. “See, it isn't all bad!”


	2. Masterful Hands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “A week and three days since… oh… you mean...” John cleared his throat and put down the novel he had been half reading. He hadn't mentioned their disastrous first time because he knew that Sherlock was still embarrassed and raw over the event. John had endured two days of Sherlock's black moods, made worse when Mycroft arrived. Sherlock had thrown some rather harsh ( even for him ) deductions at Mycroft and then turned his back in his seat, staring at the headrest and refusing to even look at his brother who promptly twirled his umbrella, shared a look with John, and then left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Second chapter, hope you enjoy!
> 
> Comment please? xx

Sherlock fiddled with the sash of his dressing gown as he stared over at John from his hiding place in the kitchen and sighed quietly, pursing his lips and swallowing around the lump in his throat, trying to get his thundering heart under control and wiping his sweaty palms roughly on his thighs. He paced silently around the kitchen table for a moment, noticing the way the bright morning light hit against John's grey blond hair before he stopped and hesitated in the kitchen doorway, and then glanced at the calendar, straightened his spine, lifted his chin, and walked with as much confidence and arrogance that he could muster, which thankfully he was very good at pretending to have.

“So,” he rumbled assertively, walking around to face a seated and reading John who didn't even look up, “Shall we try again tonight then? It’s been a week and three days. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you weren’t interested in me anymore.” Sherlock forced a playful smile on his face, clenching his shaking hands behind his back discreetly.

“A week and three days since… oh… you mean...” John cleared his throat and put down the novel he had been half reading. He hadn't mentioned their disastrous first time because he knew that Sherlock was still embarrassed and raw over the event. John had endured two days of Sherlock's black moods, made worse when Mycroft arrived. Sherlock had thrown some rather harsh ( _even for him_ ) deductions at Mycroft and then turned his back in his seat, staring at the headrest and refusing to even look at his brother who promptly twirled his umbrella, shared a look with John, and then left.

Since then, Sherlock had experimented in silence and left the flat for long periods of time, resulting in neither man speaking properly and a long chasm building between them. John had hoped that tonight, perhaps Sherlock would just like to lounge around on the sofa watching crap telly.

“What did you have in mind?” John asked tentatively.

Sherlock opened his mouth and then closed it again, flitting his gaze around the room. “Why, sex, of course. What else do you think I’m asking for here?” he snorted condescendingly, trying not to let his smile falter as his heart skipped.

“Sherlock,” John smiled and shook his head, “Come here.”

When Sherlock seemed to ignore him further, John tried once more in his best captain voice before extending his arm, grabbing Sherlock's hand and pulling him down until the younger man was sitting on John's knee with his face beneath John's jawline. “It's okay you know, to be nervous after...what happened. I know it wasn't the best time for us but it'll get better. I promise.” He kissed Sherlock's head and held him tighter. “How about something nice and relaxing? I'll give you a massage? I've been told I'm quite good. I did a course on it… something to do with my physio, they wanted me to flex and pull my arms more.” He frowned, wondering why he was saying all this. “Anyways, it's relaxing and comforting and we can see each other sensually but without actually having sex. I can do it naked if you like?”

“…Massage,” Sherlock repeated, rolling the word and idea around for a bit, and then pulling his head back to look into John’s face. “Massaging what, exactly? I mean, where on my body? Everywhere or just…certain areas?” He flushed and glared off to the side at his response, apprehensively picking and fussing with John’s jumper.

John kissed Sherlock again, he didn't like seeing the vulnerable look plastered over the handsome features. “I'll start with your back and shoulders,” he said softly, kissing along Sherlock's long pale neck and along his clothed collar, “and then your arms, your legs, your feet if you're not ticklish and then turn you over and I might do your front. It's totally up to you though, you're the boss. As usual.”

Sherlock exhaled softly and awkwardly patted John’s chest. “Yes. Okay,” he said, basking in John’s affections and smiling one of his small, genuine smiles. “Your room again? I’d prefer it, if…that’s all right?”

“That's fine,” John smiled, thankful that Sherlock was finally feeling more relaxed and less anxious. “Let me grab some lotion from the bathroom and I'll join you up there. Just take off your shirt and lay down, get comfy.”

He nodded and got to his feet again, adjusting his stance and self-consciously ruffling the curls at the back of his head. “I know this must be frustrating,” he murmured without looking at John, his Adam’s apple bobbing when he swallowed twice and continued with a huff, “I’m…glad you haven’t…” Sherlock twirled one hand vaguely, looking uncomfortable, and then walked away, disappearing from view quickly.

John sighed, rubbing his face and walking quickly to the bathroom to grab the lotion. He turned on his heels and marched up to his room, watching as Sherlock was slowly peeling his crimson shirt from his perfect, porcelain skin.

“I'm not frustrated. It's not a problem, Sherlock,” John promised, walking to stand behind Sherlock and kiss the part of his neck he could reach. “You can take all the time you need, I'm not going anywhere. I've survived this long with fish in the kettle and soil in my shoes. I just wish you could talk to me more, open up and tell me when you're scared or anxious. You don't have to hide anything,” he said as he stroked down Sherlock's sides, pressing chaste kisses over the long-healed scars which crisscrossed around his back from his time away. “I er… well. You know. I… think you're great.”

“I’m not hiding,” Sherlock mumbled, folding and then refolding his shirt for no other reason than to steady his hands. “And I’m not scared. Scared is not the word I’d use. I don’t get scared.”

“Hmm. Liar,” John smirked, kissing down Sherlock's spine and then biting his clothed bum. “Take your trousers off, you can put your pyjamas on or just leave your pants on but I won't be touching underneath them,” John insisted, moving back up and wrapping his arms around Sherlock before pulling away and stripping himself of jumper, shirt and trousers. He remembered Sherlock's nervousness and so walked to his drawer and pulled out a pair of loose pyjama bottoms, pulling them on and then sitting on the edge of the bed to wait for Sherlock to decide.

Sherlock lifted his gaze and cleared his throat softly, undoing and then stepping out of his trousers. “Fine,” he admitted under his breath, “I am, perhaps a little, scared – but not of…of sex, not really. I’m… fearful of…losing you.” Sherlock timidly laced his hands together in front of him and glowered at his feet, refusing to look at John.

“You're not going to lose me, you daft git,” John promised, walking to Sherlock's side and entwining his fingers into the longer ones which were slightly clammy with sweat. “Do you really think I liked seeing you like that? Scared? Frightened? No! I want you to be happy, I want you to want to be with me naturally and think that maybe, just maybe, our sex life could be nice and fun and in no way painful or an abuse which you have to put up with for my sake.” John looked Sherlock in the eye, kissing him gently and then stroking through Sherlock's curls with his other hand. “Even if we never have full sex. I'll be happy. I'm happy to sit in our chairs and talk or get into bed for a cuddle without even taking our pants off because you know why?” he asked, looking up at Sherlock who blinked silently. “Because it's you, It's you I want to be with. I'm not with you for sex or for your amazing and massively brilliant brain. I'm with you, for you.”

Sherlock gave a gentle huff through his nose before lowering his eyes, a soft pink blush covering his cheeks at John's words. Unable to express himself in words, Sherlock leaned down and gave John a gentle kiss, his hands cupping John's cheeks and his long thumbs rubbing against John's cheekbones. He pulled away, resting his head on John's forehead and taking a few calming breaths.

“This would be so much easier if I was a woman,” Sherlock mumbled after staring at John silently for two minutes and smiling light-heartedly, his eyes crinkling. “So…Should I just lie on my stomach then? – You’ve really done this before? Massaging someone else?”

“Yeah on your belly please,” John said, giving a final quick peck on Sherlock's lips before turning to fuss with the bed. “And yeah… a few people. One was a fella I knew from the army who had shattered his leg. He needed some help with the pain so I offered. The other was… well… Mary,” he said, disgusted that he could even mutter her name.

Sherlock tensed at the mention of her and then absentmindedly touched the bullet scar on his chest. “If I don’t like it,” he said with forced mischievousness, “I’ll just kick you in the face again.”

“Hmm, some couples have safewords. We have physical violence,” John replied with a huff of laughter, thankful that his ex-wife's name hadn't spoiled anything before it had even begun. He knelt on the bed, shuffling into the middle and then tapping the bed beside him. “Hop in.”

“Can I have a kiss first?” Sherlock asked something that was fast becoming a usual thing between them, as he moved over and crawled over the bed toward John with a grin.

John nodded and reached for Sherlock, pulling him closer and wrapping his arms around the taller man's shoulders. Their lips met softly, almost chaste before John licked at the seam of Sherlock's lips and pressed his tongue inside, sweeping it around and tasting the lingering hint of sweet tea. He moaned and let his hand tangle in the small hairs at the base of Sherlock's neck before pulling back and kissing him a few gentle pecks at the corner of his mouth. “Better?”

“Much,” Sherlock replied with a boyish sort of expression and another beaming grin. He sighed and spread out on his stomach, propping his head up on both of his hands, and glanced at John from the corner of his eyes. “You better be good.”

“Pfft,” John scoffed playfully, “I'm amazing. I'm going to blow your mind,” he giggled, opening the lotion and pouring some onto his hands before warming it. “I'm going to touch your back now, tell me… the scars… do they still hurt? Should I be careful anywhere?”

“No,” Sherlock mumbled, glancing at them briefly and then looking up at John with a loose shrug and yet another smile. “Massage away!”

John smiled and began to gently slide his hands over Sherlock's skin, coating the flesh with the oily cream and familiarising Sherlock with his touch. He stroked along his shoulders first, careful not to get it in Sherlock's hair before moving further down, along Sherlock's spine and to his lower back where he noticed a small patch of hair he had never seen before. “You've got some hair here. Makes up for the lack of hair on your legs. You're practically a yeti,” he joked, scratching the area gently before continuing along to Sherlock's sides and then repeating again and again.

“I have hair on my legs!” Sherlock complained and lifted one of them meaningfully, dropping his head down on the bed with a huff of annoyance, straightening his arms out with a lazy stretch. “Mm – This is actually really nice…”

“I told you. I'm amazing,” John puffed, using his thumbs to circle a tight spot on Sherlock's shoulder before stroking away the pain. He focussed on Sherlock's problem areas, unbunching the muscles and adding more cream until Sherlock was a pliant puddle in the middle of the bed. “So, can we talk about last week now? You're all relaxed and I'm interested. Tell me what I can do to stop you worrying?”

“Hm? What happened last week?” Sherlock asked with a frown, turning his head to peer up at John from his fringe and then rolling his eyes. “Oh. Right. No.”

“I think we should,” John continued, adding more lotion and sweeping his hand down across Sherlock's ribs before moving back to his spine. “I want to make sure I'm not hurting or scaring you. So tell me how.”

Sherlock groaned in exasperation and rubbed at his face with his hands. “How am I meant to answer that? What makes you think that I know the reason why I’m…anxious?—I don’t know. Let’s move on. Less talking and more kneading.”

“Heh, kneading and we live at Baker St. That's clever,” John laughed and pressed his fingers deeper into Sherlock's muscles.

The two remained in silence whilst John's fingers caressed Sherlock's skin; the only noises were the occasional wet slick of the cream against skin and the creak of the bed whenever John moved from his position to rub at Sherlock's neck and shoulders.

After 10 long minutes, John couldn't hold his questions anymore. “Sherlock? Do you think you'd want to try other types of sex? With our hands and mouths?” he asked quietly. “We can do a lot that doesn't include penetration… or we...well… we could try with me...doing it? Maybe? I don't know,” he cleared his throat before raising an eyebrow. “Sherlock? Sherlock, did you hear me?”

Sherlock didn’t reply; in fact, Sherlock was almost dead silent and hadn’t moved or uttered any more than a sigh for a while. His face was turned away from John, hands half curled and vaguely twitching where they were stretched above his head, and his breathing was deep and steady. Just before John was about to repeat the question, or even mutter Sherlock’s name, Sherlock snorted lightly and then let out a very soft and rumbling snore, shifting in slumber.

“Oh. Oh, you utter twat,” John huffed, shaking his head and stopping his hands. He moved them to his groin to cup the bulge which had formed over the time it had taken to relax Sherlock seemingly enough to have a bloody nap. He stroked himself through his pants and considered his options: he could wake Sherlock and attempt a seduction… let the detective sleep and go for a sneaky wank… or get into bed with his lover and attempt to nap with him.

John thought for a moment before standing from the bed. He continued stroking himself over the fabric and walked through to the bathroom with his bobbing cock leading the way like a leaking and aching compass. John winced at the cold tiles, walking towards the basin and grabbing hold of the sink, taking a deep breath before pulling off his pants and standing naked, flushed and extremely aroused. He took himself in hand, stroking rapidly and twisting at his tip in the well practised moves which always brought him to a quick climax.

John thought of Sherlock, lying in John's bed, sleep slack and relaxed and John wondered how perfect it would be to get into bed behind him, slip his cock in between Sherlock's thighs and pump away. He could rub his thumb across Sherlock's spit slicked lower lip and feed it into his mouth, feeling the detective sucking on the digit whilst John pounded his hips roughly against Sherlock's skin, again and again. John would growl, call Sherlock beautiful and wonderful whilst his cock throbbed and twitched in the warm, wet cradle of his lover's legs. John would stroke Sherlock's hair and reach his hand around to Sherlock's prick, pumping it hard and fast in the same rhythm as John's hips until he came and coated the insides of those perfect legs,  followed immediately by Sherlock who would moan wantonly and spill his seed across the bedding in long spurts.

He felt his climax growing closer and quickly steadied himself on the sink, his left hand moving rapidly until he stiffened, groaned loudly and then came into the basin of the sink in long, sharp pulses. John breathed deeply, rolling his shoulders and then running the water to wash away the evidence before walking back into the bedroom and climbing in beside his lover, wrapping an arm around his waist and curling into the comfortable mattress.


	3. Keep it down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock wiggled his bum in time to the music, visualising where John would be about now. He would have finished his clinic and walked out with the receptionist who had to lock up, escorting her to her car to ensure nothing terrible happened to her in the darkened car park ( John had become tediously obsessed with crime statistics since working with the police and ensured all members of staff were safe outside the building ) before waving cheerily and setting off to the tube station. Sherlock grinned, stroking a hand across Billy the skull's smooth domed head as his mind played a perfect representation of John's journey. He would stop off at Tesco, grab milk and some of that delicious marzipan chocolate which he shared with Sherlock in front of the TV and then walk the short distance to Baker Street, probably humming to himself or something equally as mundane.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slight ick of drunken vomiting.

Sherlock squinted at the bottle and tried to mark how much he’d drank with a pen, drawing a wonky line with a scowl, “At least I know I’m not exactly sober,” he muttered and turned to look at himself in the mirror, “Not completely drunk either though. Nope. Just…just happy. So…so happy. And not completely and stupidly petrified. Not at all. No. No feelings of anxiety, no second thoughts, no horrible mental images of where Mary has touched and…and marked and claimed—I need another drink.” Taking a very large and eye-watering gulp, Sherlock turned and looked around the flat thoughtfully, checking the time and then rummaging around to play some music on his laptop, clumsily light a few candles, and sway from side to side. “…Where did we get candles from?”

Sherlock wiggled his bum in time to the music, visualising where John would be about now. He would have finished his clinic and walked out with the receptionist who had to lock up, escorting her to her car to ensure nothing terrible happened to her in the darkened car park ( _John had become tediously obsessed with crime statistics since working with the police and ensured all members of staff were safe outside the building_ ) before waving cheerily and setting off to the tube station. Sherlock grinned, stroking a hand across Billy the skull's smooth domed head as his mind played a perfect representation of John's journey. He would stop off at Tesco, grab milk and some of that delicious marzipan chocolate which he shared with Sherlock in front of the TV and then walk the short distance to Baker Street, probably humming to himself or something equally as mundane.

John was walking home, but he had ignored the call of Tesco due to an incident with his bank card refusing to give him money. He wondered whether that was anything to do with Mycroft… whether the older Holmes had discovered their disastrous first time and was making life difficult in simple ways. His clinic had been dull, full of bunions and constipation ( _his patients, not him_ ) and he couldn't wait to get home and share a greasy takeaway with Sherlock and cuddle on the sofa. The detective seemed to find it therapeutic when he lay his head on John's lap and allowed the older man to stroke through the raven curls, occasionally stroking a thumb across Sherlock's forehead until he fell asleep. John smiled as he walked, pathetically happy as he turned the corner to Baker Street. He heard the faint notes of electronic music on the wind and frowned, it wasn't very often that loud music was played on their street considering it was mainly occupied by old people. He continued to walk until realising that the synth music was coming from 221. John groaned but laughed heartily when he recognised the song as one he had danced to at a school disco.

Opening the door, he shouted a hello to Mrs Hudson which was swallowed by the song playing above. Wincing at the volume now he was actually inside the house, he ran up the seventeen steps with the intention of telling Sherlock to turn it down before they got an ASBO. John twisted his head around the doorframe, biting his lip to the point of almost breaking the skin when he saw Sherlock dancing around the room, mouthing the words to the song to the skull which looked on unhappily. John watched for a long moment as Sherlock gyrated his hips and gave a flamboyant kick of his leg.

“Hello,” John smiled, walking into the room and startling Sherlock.

He stumbled and tripped with wide eyes at the sight of him, falling backwards onto his backside, but recovered quickly with a languid sort of smile, jumping to his feet and swaggering over to John. “Hello, You're early. I thought you would bring me chocolate,” he rumbled and then blinked, turning back to wander over and turn the music down. He moved to John’s side again afterwards, looking mussed and lazily charming, and swooped down to kiss John hard, tugging him further into the living room with a growing smirk.

John had no option but to follow Sherlock's insistent tugging and allowed himself to be manhandled and kissed once more. “Mmff,” he managed against Sherlock's lips. The detective tasted like sweets and alcohol and John smiled as he kissed him again. “Had a busy day it seems.”

“I found candles,” Sherlock told him as he began tugging at John's clothes, yanking the cotton shirt from his trousers and fumbling with the buttons. Sherlock's gaze was dark, his expression lewd and suggestive as he ducked his head down to trail hot, sucking kisses along John's slightly stubbled cheeks and throat.

“Good god man,” John groaned, his cock already perking up in his pants, “this is a nice surprise.”

Sherlock chuckled, giving a long, hard suck just below John's jawline to mark him possessively before kissing John again whilst the doctor helped to unbutton his own shirt, throwing it to one side when Sherlock obviously became impatient. Sherlock had been considering the cost of buying a new shirt and ripping it apart like an erotically charged madman. John stilled his hands after unbuttoning his clothing and stood still, allowing Sherlock the opportunity to do as he pleased. The younger man grabbed and manhandled John down into his chair and then knelt down between his legs with an eager expression, exhaling a shaky breath. “I’ve ached for you,” he groaned, one part theatrics and the other part true yearning, “I was getting impatient. I almost gave in to temptation to turn up at your office.” Sherlock leaned in and licked a long, eager line up and over John’s nipple.

John hissed with arousal and closed his eyes as his cock throbbed in a long line down his thigh. “I wish you would have… however I think it might have upset Mrs Wilson's gallstones,” he smirked, running his fingers through Sherlock's curls.

“Good,” Sherlock chuckled huskily, nipping at John’s other nipple and then nosing his way down to dip the tip of his tongue in and around John’s navel, mashing kisses suddenly all over John’s abdomen. “Those people are boring. You should have been here...with me. Allowing me to fellate you.”

“Oh god,” John growled, arching his back before grabbing at his waistband and shuffling them down his thighs until they pooled at his ankles. His cock was visible through the thin fabric of his boxer shorts and already a small spot of wetness had formed on the tight cloth. “Sherlock,” he groaned, tilting Sherlock's head up by touching his chin and then kissing him deeply.

Sherlock opened his mouth to turn the kiss wetter and more passionate and desperate, pushing his tongue up for John to bite and suck at, before he pulled back teasingly and curled his fingers around John’s waist, playing with the hem of his underwear. He kissed John twice more, sighing and moaning through his nose, and then moved down to nuzzle the shape of John’s erection, mouthing at it hungrily.

“God, I don't know what's got into you tonight… except copious amounts of alcohol, but I'm not complaining,” John groaned, throwing his head back as he felt the wetness from Sherlock's mouth stick the fabric of his pants to his genitals. He moved his own hands to rub across his chest, teasing his nipples gently and pinching them whilst watching Sherlock's mouth open and close around the clothed penis beneath.

“I’ll have you know,” Sherlock said, rough and throaty, “that I am not drunk. I’m a little tipsy. That’s it. I made sure – I know your opinions on alcohol and consent so I ensured it… I measured it. Sth-- Sthy-- Scientifically,” he spelt out with a grumble at his brain's unwillingness to cooperate. “No copious amounts of alcohol. Just enough amounts of alcohol.” He grinned loosely and then licked the creases of John’s pelvis, following the cease of his thigh with his tongue. Sherlock shifted and lifted his head, tugging and then roughly folding down John’s underwear to expose his cock to the humid air of the living room.

John hummed happily, his hands curling into the chair arms as he watched his cock flick up from his pants and slap against his stomach with a wet splat. John flushed slightly, his British resolve faltering at being so naked in his living room in the daylight when his elderly landlady might pop in at any time to do the hoovering. His mind stopped working however when Sherlock wrapped his warm hands around his shaft and began to stroke the loose skin of his foreskin over and across his slick tip.

“Well hello,” Sherlock purred playfully as he eyed the length of John and rubbed his fingertips along him. He huffed with a laugh and glanced up at John before extending his tongue to taste the warm, moist skin of John’s glans, stroking along the flared edge and then nudging at the slit, humming in the back of his throat.

“Hnnnggg,” John hiccuped, his eyes slamming shut so not to embarrass himself by coming immediately. He extended his arms, putting one hand onto Sherlock's shoulder whilst the other came to tangle in his hair, not to push, but merely to hold onto and ground himself whilst Sherlock experimented with kitten licks and long swipes.

After several seconds, Sherlock let go and folded both his hands behind his back as he leaned in to follow the rigid line of John’s penis, teasingly mouthing at the shaft and head with a playful expression and heavily lidded eyes. When he finally sucked John into his mouth, he did so slowly and increased the suction while John’s cock rested against the writhing form of his tongue, seemingly savouring the flavour and sensation dazedly.

John’s erection popped obscenely and loudly from Sherlock’s lips as he arched his head away, and Sherlock smirked. “Good?” he asked.

“So, so good,” John nodded, his speech lazy and raw as he blinked down at Sherlock. “Please don't stop.”

Keeping his hands behind him friskily, Sherlock licked from root to tip with a breathy groan, and then sucked John back into his mouth, swallowing as he tried to fit more of him in. The head of John’s cock bulged Sherlock’s cheek out while Sherlock adjusted his head position, exposing the way his lips were stretched around the thick length of John.

“Oh god, Jesus Christ Sherlock,” John groaned, keeping his hips still and scratching at Sherlock's slightly damp curls for a brief moment. “Yes… Yes… Oh god!”

Sherlock coughed as John slipped further in, sliding down to the back of Sherlock’s throat, and sluggishly pulled off with a wet gasp, only to taking John into his mouth once more, bobbing his head and sucking and licking at John’s glans, tasting the salty and musky precome on his tastebuds which he rapidly locked away in John's sex room in the mind palace.

“Don't… don't force it,” John stammered, his brain not quite working as quickly as usual thanks to the pleasure flowing through him. “Take your time.”

Balancing John’s cock against his bottom lip, Sherlock breathed heavily and looked up at John, his eyes almost completely dark and glistening with unshed tears from gagging. “I want you to fuck me after,” he told him assertively, pursing his lips in a faint and moist kiss.

“Jesus,” John growled, slamming his eyes closed once more and counting to ten and then back down again for good measure. “Let's… wait and see. I'm not sure how good my refractory period is,” he laughed, stroking across Sherlock's cheekbones. “You’re so good at this.”

“Oh, I won’t be letting you ejaculate from this alone,” Sherlock told him cheekily, lifting his eyebrows and leaving his erection alone to smear loving and tender kisses up John’s stomach, “This is foreplay.”

“Please don't tease me,” John begged, his eyes looking down at Sherlock pleadingly. “I don't think you know how long I've waited to see this. To see you. Like this.”

Sherlock sucked a bruise into John’s side abruptly and then moved back to lick up the underside of John’s penis, exhaling on a deep and vibrating moan and a smirk. “Really?” he murmured and flashed him a quick, smug smile, taking him back into his mouth again.

“Yes. Yes really. Oh Sherlock, if you only knew how many hours… how much time I spent wanking over this thought. This vision. Fuck, you're beautiful,” he growled, rolling his hips and moving to pull on his nipples again with a deep groan, feeling the coiling pleasure slowly moving outwards through his limbs and up his spine. John could feel his bollocks slowly drawing up to his body, the twinges from his lower body signalling his impending orgasm.

Angling his head, Sherlock started up another steady rhythm but slowly and surely sucked and pushed more of John into his mouth and down his throat. His throat clenched and juddered for a moment and Sherlock gagged quietly, pulling back, and he frowned in concentration. Sherlock swallowed and twirled his tongue, then took John back down his throat in a very short bob of his head, opening his mouth wider.

“Sherlock, Sherlock...” John chanted, his eyes wide and his buttocks clenching rhythmically. “Oh fuck, I'm so close. So close. You'll need to pull off if you don't want it in your mouth.”

At the twitching and throbbing of warning from John’s cock, Sherlock suddenly gagged again and lurched forward, accidentally pushing John's penis further just before he pulled off completely and covered his mouth, heaving uncontrollably and then throwing up the alcohol he’d drunk, unable to stop it from spurting from between his fingers and covering John. Sherlock scrambled back and up onto his feet, rushing to the bathroom with another loud retching heave.

“Oh. My. God,” John groaned, looking down at his prick bobbing and twitching whilst covered in sticky stomach contents. His nose itched at the scent of vomit which spread from his skin up into the air and caused John to gag slightly himself. He wasn't a stranger to being vomited on, young kids did it all the time at the surgery but it was the first time during oral sex. He closed his eyes, trying to inhale through his mouth as he lamented the death of his oh-so-close orgasm. His cock no longer seemed interested in proceedings and had begun to soften as John cautiously lifted himself from the chair, grabbing his shirt and pressing it to his shaft where most of the fluid was and waddled towards the bathroom carefully where Sherlock was still heaving into the toilet basin. John walked behind him, stroking his hair and whispering calming words before turning on the shower and dropping his shirt to climb under the water.

“Sherlock, I'm sorry,” John half shouted over the water pressure. “It was brilliant… you did really well.”

Sherlock made a half huff, half groan as he gagged once more and gripped the toilet seat tightly. John reached for the soap and cleaned himself off, ensuring that his penis and bollocks were completely cleaned of sick and now smelt of sandalwood and vanilla instead of gin and tonic. His cock plumped to half hardness, more from muscle memory of hours spent wanking in the shower cubicle but John ignored it as he cleaned himself off and then climbed out of the tub, wrapping a towel around his waist and then walking to Sherlock's side. Sherlock was still leaning over the toilet, his head bowed, but he lifted it to look at John sorrowfully, “…M’sorry,” he mumbled, blearily blinking at him.

“It's alright,” John smiled, kissing the top of his head and reaching over to flush the toilet chain. “You finished?”

Sherlock gave a sad nod and allowed John to help him up, swaying slightly at the sudden movement. John wrapped his arms around Sherlock's waist and steered them towards the kitchen, depositing Sherlock onto a seat before popping into their shared bedroom to grab some clothes. He put on some loose pyjamas and his dressing gown before returning to the kitchen and beginning two cups of tea and some toast for Sherlock.

“I guess you didn't eat before you began your drinking session?” John asked with a smile, moving to place the plate in front of Sherlock after he had smeared the bread with copious amounts of jam. He stroked Sherlock's hair and let his hand move to the back of his neck where he rubbed and caressed Sherlock's skin. “Never drink on an empty stomach. Rookie mistake ”

“I think the mistake was attempting to swallow your enormous penis,” Sherlock huffed, taking a bite of toast and licking jam from his lips. “I don't think it's me… it's you. You're abnormal and ridiculous.”

“Thanks;” John laughed, kissing Sherlock again and then moving back to add hot water to their tea. He spooned in sugar for Sherlock before sitting down and handing the cup over. “Drink.”

“John… If you wanted to… I mean… I wouldn't be happy but I understand you're a sexual man and I can't… I just…” Sherlock stammered, looking down sadly at his fingernails.

“Don't even finish that thought,” John insisted.

“I don't think it's possible for me to have a sexual relationship. Perhaps I wasn't built for it,” Sherlock said, startling John with the knowledge that Sherlock was obviously genuinely upset.

“You're being silly. It's the drink talking,” John attempted to reassure his lover.

“Have any of your other… people… vomited during fellatio?” Sherlock asked, unable to maintain eye contact.

“No,” John admitted.

“Exactly. So perhaps we should just give up… go back to just being friends?” Sherlock asked resignedly, twirling his mug in his hands.

“No...Sherlock...” John tried, only to be interrupted by Sherlock.

“I just, I don't know if I'll ever be any good and you'll need sex so maybe you should just go out and find someone… one of those horribly named 'Coitus buddies' or whatever they're called,” Sherlock sighed, rubbing his face. “And then we can just… cuddle here afterwards?”

“Sherlock...” John tried again.

“And perhaps you can meet someone you actually like… someone like Mar-- well, not like her. But similar… only not an assassin,” Sherlock continued.

“I LOVE YOU!” John shouted, surprising him with the volume of his outburst as he blinked at Sherlock who looked utterly wide-eyed and bewildered. “I love you, you twat.”

“Why?” Sherlock asked quietly, completely blown away by John's admission.

“Why what? Because I just… do. It's bloody obvious. I think it's been like that since the start really, considering how many people assumed we were together.” John smiled, reaching a hand to touch Sherlock's hand. “I don't ever want to be without you, and nobody else even compares.” He coughed, rubbing his mouth with his other hand before shrugging. “So yeah… I love you.”

“I think I love you too,” Sherlock admitted coyly. “I've never really experienced love before, I don't think… I loved Redbeard and my parents… but it's different to that love. I'm happy not to see my parents for weeks at a time but the idea that you leave me for a few hours is intolerable.”

John smiled warmly, stroking his thumb across Sherlock's knuckles as he let him continue.

“Is that love?” Sherlock frowned. “I get a strange flutter in my stomach.”

“Could be wind,” John joked.

Sherlock met his gaze and then laughed, a deep rumbling laugh which soon had John joining in. The two men giggled at the kitchen table before John rubbed his face and looked over at Sherlock. “We need to talk more, about this sex thing. I don't want you feeling like you need to drink to get the confidence to touch me and I don't want to feel like you're doing it for my sake. I want you to do it because you want to do it.”

“I do!” Sherlock insisted with a dramatic and drunken flourish. “Honestly, my irritating penis has refused to calm itself down since we began this relationship. It's annoying.”

“Come here,” John smiled, pulling his chair out and offering Sherlock a seat on his lap. The detective walked over and seated himself gently on John's pyjama clad lap, turning to tuck his head beneath John's chin. “We'll sort it. We always do.”

“You do have a ridiculous penis though,” Sherlock sulked.

“Yeah… You're probably right,” John sniggered, kissing Sherlock's head softly.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock felt braver at the tone in John's voice and wrapped his arms around John's waist, pulling him closer. “Take off your jumper, it's giving me hives,” he huffed, a soft chuckle escaping his lips as he kissed John's earlobe.
> 
> “Twat,” John smirked in reply before taking a step back and pulling the offending garment over his head and throwing it onto the pile of clothes. He tilted his head and looked up at Sherlock, stepping closer to kiss him softly before reaching for his hand and entwining their fingers as he coaxed Sherlock onto the bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The boys finally get it together properly.

Neither man could remember how they got into this situation; John had Sherlock against the wall, his thigh pressed between Sherlock's legs as the taller man ground down and snogged John like his life depended on it. John growled, grabbing Sherlock's arse and spinning him, pulling off the Belstaff and his own coat in one fluid movement which would make any ballerina envious. Sherlock raised an eyebrow before John was back on him, fingers flying over pearl buttons to pull apart the silk shirt and show off the pale skin beneath. John focussed on a cluster of freckles, licking and kissing them passionately as he nosed at Sherlock's collarbone and kicked off his shoes as he steered Sherlock backwards into their bedroom.

The detective followed, his brain slightly fried by the rapid escalation. They had been talking about dinner and then suddenly… lips and tongues and filthy wicked hands teasing the outline of his cock in his bespoke trousers. Sherlock groaned, deep and velvet as he realised his hands were meekly at his sides. He lifted them, cupping John's face and pulling him up for another passionate kiss as they bumped into the door frame with enough energy to bruise but Sherlock didn't care, wouldn't care if he had a hundred thousand bruises so long as John didn't stop touching him.

John pulled back, inhaling rapidly and blinking as if to clear the fog of arousal. “Sherlock, is this okay?”

Sherlock bit his lip and kicked off his own shoes, letting his shirt fall to the floor uncaringly as he processed the question. “Ye-yes...” he nodded before adding, “but slow… please?”

John smiled, lifting Sherlock's hand to his mouth and pressing a kiss on the palm before stroking his fingers across Sherlock's cheekbones. “Only as much as you like, we can stop.”

Sherlock felt braver at the tone in John's voice and wrapped his arms around John's waist, pulling him closer. “Take off your jumper, it's giving me hives,” he huffed, a soft chuckle escaping his lips as he kissed John's earlobe.

“Twat,” John smirked in reply before taking a step back and pulling the offending garment over his head and throwing it onto the pile of clothes. He tilted his head and looked up at Sherlock, stepping closer to kiss him softly before reaching for his hand and entwining their fingers as he coaxed Sherlock onto the bed.

The men were still in their trousers, although their arousal was plain to see in the stretched fabric at their groins. John ran his hand up and down Sherlock's long torso, his finger briefly touching the circular scar before moving away to probe at Sherlock's belly button.

“Soon you'll barely be able to see it,” Sherlock whispered, twisting his head to look directly into John's eyes. “It'll be gone.”

John wanted to argue, ask when the memories and hatred for the woman who shot him would leave but he didn't want to spoil the moment as he ran his hand across the bulge in Sherlock's pants, listening to the detective hiss in pleasure. Sherlock could obviously tell something was bothering him but thankfully, he kept his mouth closed. To be sure, John kissed him again, dipping his tongue into his mouth and teasing him as he stroked across Sherlock's prick.

“John...” Sherlock whispered, arching his back for more friction. “Please.”

John nodded and began opening Sherlock's trousers, pulling them and his underwear down to Sherlock's thighs and allowing the younger man to shimmy his hips out of them until they fell to the bed to be kicked off. John did the same with his jeans and then whispered seductively into Sherlock's ear, “On your front. I want to show you something.”

“How can I see if I'm face down?” Sherlock asked, his eyebrows meeting in confusion.

“Well. It's not showing exactly… but I want you to experience something,” John clarified before tapping Sherlock's hip. “Budge.”

“Yes. Yes. Fine. Bloody impatient git,” Sherlock laughed, turning over and moving his head so he could watch John for a moment longer.

John kissed Sherlock's shoulder blade before gracefully hopping across the bed to straddle Sherlock's naked arse. The detective rolled his eyes and started to move. “John, we tried the massage already...”

“That's not what this is,” John promised, pushing Sherlock back down and then shuffling further down, pressing soft kisses at various areas on his way. When he was at the curve of Sherlock's bum, he stilled and used his thumbs to spread the cheeks softly before blowing a puff of air over the puckered ring, watching as it spasmed and twitched.

“John!” Sherlock shouted, scandalised as he twisted his head rapidly again to look. “John I…”

“Let's try it,” John whispered, running his hand over Sherlock's buttocks carefully. He ducked his head and with a broad sweep of his tongue, licked from spine to perineum, feeling the twitching hole beneath his tongue for the first time.

Sherlock groaned, arching his back but blushing at the same time. He wasn't aware that such a wonderful sensation could come from something so utterly filthy.

John did it again, and again, licking across the almost virgin entrance before pointing his tongue and attacking Sherlock's skin more intensely. He felt the muscles relax for a brief moment, allowing him to slip in slightly before Sherlock's muscles clamped around his tongue and Sherlock whimpered. John groaned, moving his hand to cup his cock in an attempt to stop it aching as he tasted the musky, sweat tinged skin. Sherlock was mewling softly, his head thrashing from side to side and his body suddenly moving until he was up on his knees, his arse in the air to allow John better access.

Sherlock had shut down his embarrassment, refusing to feel shy about something which was so absolutely, astonishingly good. His fingers curled into the duvet and his face was pushed into the cushions as he wiggled his arse and pushed back, desperately trying to force more of John's tongue inside him.

The detective was enjoying himself so much that he didn't notice that John had lubed up his hand and was moving one finger close to his entrance. He hesitated for a brief moment before circling the relaxed hole.  “Is this okay?” he asked gently, watching as Sherlock lifted his head slowly, his eyes glazed and unfocused as he nodded and then dropped his head back down.

John smiled, glad he had finally found an off button for the usually manic detective. He made a final circle with his finger before pressing inside gently, slowly inching his way into the tight, scolding hot heat of Sherlock's body. He stilled, letting Sherlock accustom himself to the sensation before licking around his own finger and attempting to tease the stretching rim. The lubricant didn't taste particularly nice but he endured it as he twisted his finger and pulled it out a few inches before pushing back in, bending it _just so_ to allow him to brush against Sherlock's prostate.

The detective groaned, low and decadent as he arched his spine further. He realised his hardness was leaking a steady puddle onto the bed but he didn't care about anything except the need for more of John inside and around him.

“More,” he begged, his fingers tightening in the pillows as he turned his head to look over his shoulder at the mop of sandy blond hair visible from his rear. “Please.”

John nodded, pulling his finger out and adding a second. It was a tight fit, his large fingers stretched Sherlock wide and he slowed to barely a millimetre at a time as Sherlock whined and wiggled his bum.

“I know, I'm sorry,” John mumbled, kissing Sherlock's buttock and then giving it a soft nip. He twirled his finger and brushed his prostate again, tapping it gently and watching as another long drip of precome made its way onto the bed. “You're making a real mess. I should make you lick it up.”

Sherlock whimpered, causing John to raise an eyebrow. “Oh really?”

“Shut up,” Sherlock grumbled, fussing with his hair for a moment before dropping back to the bed. “It's just a… an idea I had… once...okay maybe a few times.”

“What type of an idea?” John asked, suddenly intrigued.

“That you would… I don't know… Pull rank.” Sherlock blushed further, his cheeks and the blotchy blush down his throat now almost crimson. “Like at Baskerville.”

“Oh, that can definitely be arranged… Soldier,” John growled, his Captain voice now evident. “But not tonight. Tonight is something different but we can definitely do that.”

Sherlock shivered, pulling himself to his arms and attempting to bend backwards to kiss John without detaching the doctor's fingers from his insides. John chuckled but inched forward, kissing him messily before reaching underneath with his free hand and giving Sherlock's prick a long, slick stroke. Sherlock groaned, his eyes rolling as he shuddered and his cock twitched.

John pulled back, removing his hand and then pressing three fingers inside Sherlock's now loosened hole. The detective hissed, closing his eyes and wincing at the burn and stretch but was pacified by John kissing him again, soft and tender as he circled Sherlock's prostate and milked more precome from him.

“I'm ready… Good lord, John. I'm definitely ready,” Sherlock groaned, arching into John's touch and pressing himself back onto his lover's hand. “Please.”

John nodded, moving to lick a stripe along Sherlock's sweat-soaked spine before removing his hand and shuffling away to pull his underwear down and slick up his cock. He had just unlatched the lube when he frowned. “Oh. No that won't do.”

“What?” Sherlock asked puzzled.

“Socks,” John said simply.

“Socks?” Sherlock spluttered. “What?”

“You're wearing socks. I can't have sex with a man in socks. It's ridiculous,” John grumbled, moving to pull them off Sherlock's feet. He had almost touched the man's ankle when Sherlock yelped and moved away. “Don't!

“Why?” John frowned before smirking. “Oh… are you ticklish?”

“No. Just… Don't,” Sherlock huffed, throwing himself onto his back and lifting his legs in the air in an attempt to pull his socks off. He grimaced and looked down at his genitals. “How much lubricant did you use? It feels like my anus is being used as a slip and slide.”

John laughed, shaking his head. “Better too much than not enough, remember?”

Sherlock hummed before throwing his socks at John's head and lying back on the pillows, a vision of utter beauty as John looked over the pale skin now blotchy with spots of arousal. John kissed Sherlock's thigh, his stomach and then his chest whilst his other hand slicked up his penis. He used the remainder of the lube to smear against Sherlock's anus before positioning himself between Sherlock's legs. The younger man gulped audibly but opened his legs to allow better access.

“Relax,” John whispered, kissing Sherlock's neck and up behind his ear. “Just focus on me.”

“I can't…” Sherlock replied, his eyes suddenly wide and full of nervousness. “John I...”

“Sherlock,” John said as he nuzzled against Sherlock's jaw, causing them both to look at one another in the eyes. “Only me, stay with me okay? Right here.”

Sherlock swallowed again but nodded a single time, his hand reaching to find John's and entwining their fingers together as John used his other hand to press his prick against Sherlock's opening. There was a moment of tension when Sherlock felt the first push of the blunt head against his hole but he continued to look into John's eyes, mapping the changes in the colours and the dilation of the pupils as John finally, slowly and eagerly pushed inside.

“John,” Sherlock gasped, his eyes fluttering shut with a wince.

“Sherlock, right here. With me,” John insisted. He wiped his other hand on the bedding before bringing it to Sherlock's other hand and held Sherlock's hand in that one too, forcing them to be encircled in one another completely.

“It stings,” Sherlock admitted with another wince.

“It'll get better, breathe for me,” John whispered, nosing along Sherlock's jaw and then kissing him deeply, still maintaining eye contact.

After a few short moments, the stinging had abated and a desperate urge to roll his hips overcame Sherlock. The younger man followed his body's needs for once, rolling his hips and arching his spine as he felt John slip further inside him. John stayed still, allowing Sherlock the opportunity to decide the depth and speed of his thrusts until he became aware of Sherlock's soft, whispered oh's.

“What can I do? What do you need?” John asked, kissing along Sherlock's cheeks and across his nose.

“Touch me… I'm so… so close,” Sherlock strained. His eyelids were fluttering closed but he was determined to keep John's gaze. John removed his weaker arm, bringing it to wrap around Sherlock's cock between their bodies and began to stroke rapidly, pushing the foreskin against the glistening head which leaked with precome in a steadily growing puddle between them.

“Oh… Oh… OH,” Sherlock moaned, his eyes closing tightly as he came in long spurts over their bellies and John's hand. The doctor could only hold on, clenching his teeth as the tightness around his prick was clenched still further with each of Sherlock's orgasmic convulsions.

John held Sherlock tightly, putting his forehead against his lover's own as he pounded into Sherlock's pliant body. His breathing was rough, grunts escaping his lips each time his cock was enveloped in the hot, hot heat of Sherlock's body. Sherlock tightened his grip on John's hand but thrust his hips up to force John in further, harder and deeper as his still hard cock was rubbed between their slicked up bodies. John was on edge; he pulled back, removing one hand from Sherlock's again as he shuffled into a better position, sitting up on his knees and throwing Sherlock's legs over his shoulders to allow him to thrust deeper.

“Okay?” he asked, looking down at the utterly filthy man below him, soaked in sweat, lube and his own drying semen.

“Yes. Yes, John,” Sherlock nodded rapidly. “Yes. Continue,” he gestured with his free hand.

John laughed, full chuckles escaped him as he rolled his hips and bent forward, hammering his tip against Sherlock's prostate again and again as sweat poured from his forehead to fall onto Sherlock's stomach. The detective blinked rapidly, his eyes wide and his mouth slack as he moved his hands to hold onto the headboard behind him.

“Fuck,” John moaned, running a hand through his hair and forcing the beads of moisture from his eyes. “Sherlock...”

“John!” Sherlock shouted, his eyes moving to stare at his own cock as it twitched hopefully and then released another load of white, thick come onto his belly. Sherlock groaned, a choked off sound escaping his throat as he flicked his eyes between his prick and John who was grinning wildly.

“Twice?” John laughed, pounding harder. “I'm a love god.”

“Y-Yes. You're amazing,” Sherlock replied, unsure whether he was trying to be spiteful or genuinely impressed.

“I can't… God… Can't hold it,” John mumbled, moving down to kiss Sherlock's lips as he groaned and bucked hard. “Sherlock, going to… going to… come!”

Sherlock stroked his hand down John's sweaty back as the doctor tensed and groaned loudly, a bloom of warmth flooding Sherlock's insides as John climaxed inside him. John shuddered, gasping and laughing quietly as he rested his head against Sherlock's shoulder.

“Well...” Sherlock started but let the conversation end immediately.

John kissed Sherlock's skin and nuzzled under his jaw before cautiously letting Sherlock's legs drop down and pulling himself out of Sherlock's body. The younger man winced; feeling the dribbling sensation was not pleasant and he clenched his muscles in an attempt to stop it.

“Let me check you over,” John insisted, gently slapping Sherlock's thighs apart.

“No. That's disgusting,” Sherlock grimaced.

“Shut up,” John laughed, giving a quick look to Sherlock's reddened hole and watching as his essence began to flood out onto the bed beneath.

“I told you it was disgusting. Now, look! You've made a mess. You're doing the cleaning,” Sherlock huffed.

John lay beside Sherlock, their hands still entwined together since the beginning of their session. “Since when is that any different?”

“If my legs weren't rubbery and not feeling at all like they belonged to me, I would be walking out of here right now,” Sherlock said with a mock pout.

“I shagged you legless?” John asked with an upturned eyebrow.

“Yes, you're a stud,” Sherlock smirked but kissed John softly at the corner of his mouth. “Shall we sleep?”

“I think that's a good idea,” John nodded, wrapping his arms around Sherlock and letting the younger man snuggle down further into his embrace.

“John?” Sherlock whispered after a few moments of silence.

“Hmm?” John replied sleepily.

“My anus is still leaking. You don't see this in the movies. I feel like I've been lied to.”

“You don't watch movies,” John responded with a chuckle.

“Shut up.”


End file.
